


All Packed Up

by antigrav_vector, Quarra



Series: Caskets and Cookies: Pack Bonding for the Socially Inept [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Slash, Crack, GFY, Gen, Humour, Mandalorian Culture, Mando'a, Non-traditional A/B/O Dynamics, Protective Clone Troopers, don't worry there's a glossary, gratuitous use of mando'a, longer phrases have hovertext, minor miscommunications, no actual non-con happens, pairings exist but don't impact the story much, references to the clone troopers' mistreatment by the galaxy at large, worry that non-con is happening offscreen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29967543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antigrav_vector/pseuds/antigrav_vector, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarra/pseuds/Quarra
Summary: Waxer's life is weird. This is hardly news. But having a pair of Mandalorian bounty hunters telling him things that make no sense is a new low.A/N: soooo I accidentally pasted the wrong thing into this box. Whoops! Previously there was a summary here that didn't quite fit the fic.
Relationships: Background CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, background Asajj Ventress & Clone troopers, background CC-2224 | Cody & Waxer (Star Wars), background Obi-Wan Kenobi & 212th Attack Battalion, background Waxer (Star Wars)/Boil (Star Wars), background Yan Dooku & Asajj Ventress, background Yan Dooku & Clone Troopers
Series: Caskets and Cookies: Pack Bonding for the Socially Inept [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2204157
Comments: 14
Kudos: 121





	All Packed Up

**Author's Note:**

> This spawned out of my discussions with Quarra, as seems to be the norm, these days. Enjoy the ridiculous  
> -Grav

Waxer's eyes opened on a karking _blindingly bright_ room and his head felt like some _shabuir_ had come after him with a heavy blunt object of some kind. He bit down on a groan and hurriedly closed his eyes again.

Where was he?

Last he remembered, the General and the Commander had been fighting Ventress while he and Ghost had been offering supporting fire and a defensive perimeter to keep the clankers at bay. And then... nothing.

He had _no karking idea_ how he'd gotten here. Wherever here was.

Waxer took a deeper breath, through his nose, tasting the air. He could immediately tell he was in a medical bay of some kind. The smell of bacta and blood was strong and carried undertones of sweat and strong emotion. Worry was chief among them. Followed by relief.

Other familiar scents hit him, once he'd processed that. His _Vod'e_ were nearby. Boil, he realised with a start that sent a jolt of pain through him strong enough to make him wince. _Riduur_. 

He could also smell Crys, Longshot, Wooley, and several of his platoon in the room, mixed in among the rest of the _Vod'e_ occupying the beds in what he thought was a recovery ward.

That he and so many of Ghost had landed in medical was a bad sign, but they all seemed to be alive and well. Well. More or less. He didn't feel injured, though he definitely had the migraine of a lifetime and the nausea to match.

What the kriff had happened after he'd been knocked out? And how had he been knocked out?

And _where were General Kenobi and Commander Cody_?

Their conspicuous absence implied that the lot of them had landed in one kriffing bizarre mess. Again. He wanted to let the presence of his _Vod'e_ , the certainty that they would all recover, soothe him, but the fact that Kenobi and the Commander were missing and the medical facilities he was in were unfamiliar to him was worrying. None of it made any sense.

Two sets of footsteps that held an oddly reassuring cadence but a heavier tread than normal were approaching the door of whatever ward he was in.

That was also oddly off kilter. The cadence of the steps read as _Vod'e_ , but the sound itself was subtly wrong. Louder, with a ring and clank of metal under it that implied heavier armour than a _Vod_ would be wearing. They were moving fluidly, no hitches in their steps that would have implied injuries, so they were obviously not here to be treated...

Cautious and curious, Waxer kept silent, his eyes closed and his breathing even, trying not to draw attention to the fact that he was awake.

He needed intel. He wouldn't get far if he tried an escape, the state that he was in, and none of his _Vod'e_ were awake to help him yet.

As the pair of beings approached, Waxer had to fight not to let himself react, not to let himself peek through his eyelashes and give himself away.

They stepped into the ward, the sounds of their footfalls changing as their -- clearly reinforced -- boots left the hard-wearing ceramic-lino-composite tile of the corridor and hit the simple easily cleaned linoleum of the ward floor.

After a second that seemed to stretch, one of them spoke up, and Waxer had to fight not to react.

"They okay?" One asked.

The other answered in an exasperated tone that implied they'd had this conversation before. "The medic says they're all recovering well. You were there for that report, _di'kut_."

They sounded eerily alike through the vocorders of their buckets, and their Basic was accented with more than a hint of mando'a, but that didn't have to mean anything. There was no way a _Vod_ could have ended up here without them knowing. Waxer dismissed the idea. That was just ludicrous.

Feeling the need to shake his head to clear it but forcing himself not to move and give himself away, Waxer dubbed them Left and Right, for lack of any better ideas, and needing to tell them apart in his thoughts. 

"How much longer til they start waking up?" Right persisted, apparently worried about Waxer and the men of the 212th, despite all the reasons why he shouldn't be.

Another karking mystery to add to the list.

"Hard to say," Left answered. "Probably not long. The average is about two hours, and it's been one and a half. _Vod_ , listen to me. _They're fine_."

Heavier armour than a _Vod_. Clear evidence of martial training audible in the way they moved. Speakers of mando'a. These were _mando'ad'e_. _Beroya'se_. But who had contracted them? And why have them watching over a GAR Battalion? There weren't a whole lot of _mando'ad'e_ roaming the galaxy, and they were well known to be _expensive_ to hire. For good reason.

Right sighed heavily. "I know, _vod_. I know. But it-- seeing so many of them laid out on beds like this... it's..."

" _Udesii, vod. Udesii_. The Count will take care of them, whether they stay here with us or not."

That was too much for Waxer's self-control. " _Excuse me_?"

Both of them turned to look at him, surprised, then their body language changed, shifting into something that screamed _unsure-caution-dangerous_.

"What the _kriff_ is going on?" Waxer demanded, prying his eyes open and wincing. "And who are you?"

"We can't give you our names," Left told him, sounding almost apologetic.

"We're friends," Right said, "you don't have to fear us."

That... Waxer wasn't sure he believed that. Before he could find the right words through the headache that was making him see everything with halos around it, Left went on talking. "Look. You have to be feeling like _osik_ right now, trooper. Just relax. The worst will pass within an hour or so."

Right nodded. "And then we'll get you something to eat."

Waxer snorted, then winced when that made the headache flare. "And you expect me to believe all that banthashit you just tried to shovel at me?"

"You have no reason not to," Left pointed out.

"Nothing that says I do, either," Waxer disagreed. "For all I know this is an elaborate trap designed to win me over while my General and Commander are fighting for their lives."

Right snorted, then laughed. "They're fine. _Udesii_. The situation isn't what it looks like."

"So my Company, and, in fact most, if not all, of my Battalion, didn't get knocked out by some bizarre new weapon the Separatists somehow got a hold of, didn't get transported to a medical facility whose location we don't know, and didn't get separated from the General and the Commander, and then left to wake up in said strange medical facility and wonder what, exactly, was done to us without our knowledge, in that time?"

That made them both flinch.

"Well, when you put it that way, it does sound pretty bad," Right conceded. "Nothing's been done to you though. All we did was put you in beds to recover. And before you ask, if you want more information on what, exactly, happened to knock you out, ask our medic. I can't make heads or tails of the jargon."

"Your General and Commander are fine, by the way," Left picked up the thread. "The others said that the Count took them down into his spooky sealed dungeon."

The last three words were accompanied by an overly dramatic finger wiggle for emphasis, and it was obviously meant to be a joke, but Waxer had gotten as far as _they're with the Count_ , and then stopped listening.

"The Count," he said flatly. "As in the Count of Serenno. That Count."

Right snorted, amused. "Yeah, that one."

"He's here." It wasn't a question. Not really. Waxer was sure he was.

Right's bucket tilted in a way that said he was very carefully watching Waxer. "Don't go doing anything stupid, now," he warned. "You're here under his protection."

"Right. And I'm King of Alderaan," Waxer rolled his eyes at them and started gathering himself to sit up. "He'd better not be--"

His words cut off when he actually tried to move, and Right took a step over to the bedside to put a hand on his shoulder and push him back down onto the mattress. " _Nayc, ke nu shaadla_ ," he ordered.

Unhappy about it, but forced to swallow hard against the roll of nausea that had gone through him with the attempt, Waxer subsided. For the moment.

"He'd better not try anything fast," Waxer tried again, well aware that it came out less than threatening when he was lying there, weak as a karking tooka kit.

"Kriff, what does it take to convince you not to worry, trooper?" Left asked him, bemused. "Stubborn as you are, you're definitely officer material."

The roll of Right's eyes was visible even with the _buy'ce_ hiding his face. " _Vod_ ," he said, "this is the Commander's SiC, you oblivious _di'kut_." 

"Oh." Left gave him another once-over that left Waxer bristling. "That explains a lot."

"In the Commander's absence, command reverts to me," Waxer confirmed, deciding that these two would probably have enough respect for rank not to try to take advantage of that knowledge. _Mando'ad'e_ were known to be direct, and generally honourable, even if they did tend to hate clones.

Wait.

Most _mando'ad'e_ hated clones. Why were these two being nice?

This whole mission was completely kriffed and it was clear to Waxer that it had been from the moment they'd set foot on the ground to help the General pursue Ventress. And ever since then everything about the mess they'd found themselves in had just kept getting weirder.

Waxer was used to having more questions than answers, but this was a whole new level of karked up.

He drew breath to ask another question he was fairly sure wouldn't get answered, but Left got there first, breaking the slightly tense silence that had fallen between them.

"Anyway, to get back to the point of our discussion," he said, "the Count will return your officers to you when he's done with them."

"He's _what_?" Waxer tried to fight his way to his feet again with a snarl that came out sounding more like a groan. 

"For Force's kriffing sake, _vod_ ," Right bitched at Left, then pinned him to the bed again, and held him there when he struggled. "Stop karking fighting me, would you? They're karking _fine. Ori'haat_. My _vod_ is just absolute _osik_ at giving clear reports."

"So the General and the Commander aren't alone with the Count in a creepy sealed dungeon and coerced into doing Force only knows what until the Count gets tired of them?" Waxer did his karking best to break Right's hold on his shoulders.

" _Vod_ ," Right said to his friend, "you're incredibly karking lucky none of the others have woken up yet, or there'd be a riot right now."

"Karking right, there would!" Waxer growled, baring his teeth. "Let me the kriff go, _shabuir_!"

"Oi!" Right have him an offended look. "Just, calm the kriff down. Kriff. It sounds horrifying when you put it the way you did, but that's not what's happening down there, I promise."

"Oh _really_? Because usually when an alpha Sith takes prisoners, chains them and cuffs them, then hauls them into a _sealed dungeon_ the logical karking outcome is torture or rape!" Waxer replied, and kept trying to get the mando to let him up so he could get to his commanding officers. With or without his troopers. "I didn't think the Seps _did_ rut induction, but apparently there's a first time for karking _everything_ \--"

Left sputtered and started outright laughing, then cackling. Right was more restrained about it, but Waxer could feel the way his whole body was shaking with his silent snickers.

It was a weird enough reaction to make Waxer pause. "What the kriff is _wrong_ with you? Rape and torture are not a karking joke."

Chemically altering a being’s rut cycle in an attempt to break them was an unfortunately well known phenomenon in the shittier parts of the galaxy. The very thought of the General and the Commander going through such a thing made rage coil in Waxer’s gut and had him snarling. 

Right took a shaking breath, and still laughing, he turned Waxer's view of the galaxy upside-down again, shaking it a little for good measure. "Lieutenant," he said, "the Count's not an alpha. He’s not gonna pull any of that designation dominance _osik_ that some _shabuir’e_ get up to."

Left nodded. "He's omega, and very pack-oriented."

Flat-footed, Waxer could only stare at them both for a few long seconds, his attempt to get free of Right's hold entirely forgotten. "Sorry. _What_? And are you saying he brought us all here just so he could get the General and the Commander alone with him for his _heat_?"

Left started laughing again. Right sighed, fondly exasperated, and repeated, "The Count is omega, Lieutenant, and he's got more honour than to stoop to something like _that_."

Skeptical, Waxer tried to stare Right down through the _buy'ce_ the _mando'ad_ wore. "Sure," he responded flatly. "The man in command of the entire Seppie army, including General Grievous, the man who has entire companies of troopers karking executed in public, has enough personal honour not to stay true to his evil tendencies."

"Just give it up, _vod_ ," Left told Right. "He won't be convinced until Kenobi and the Commander are back here, unharmed."

Implying that he was sure they would be.

"That can't happen soon enough," Right grumbled. "I can handle keeping the Lieutenant in bed, but there are too many of them for us to try that on all forty."

The matter of fact statement made Waxer blink at him. Not because it was true, or because it was pragmatic, or anything like that.

No, it reminded him -- inexplicably -- of one more crucial point.

"Wait a karking minute," he blurted out, "if the Count's an omega, he's got to have hit menopause by now. What the kriff does he want two captive alphas for?"

That had both Left and Right in karking stitches, laughing fit to crack a rib or two. Waxer scowled up at Right, and raised a hand to smack the side of his _buy'ce_ , over his ear.

"Hey! Ow! Karking what the sith-hells?" Right bitched at him, sounding eerily like a _Vod_ again.

"Relax, Lieutenant," Left urged him once more. " _Udesii_. The Count isn't in menopause. _Jetiise_ , even _dar’jetiise_ , live a karking long time and their cycles correspondingly go on until they're older than you'd expect. We've definitely smelled pre- and post-heat on him before, but he's never so much as hinted that he wanted or expected any of us to help him through it. Hells, I don't think he's ever even hired anyone for that."

Right made a low frustrated sound under his breath. "Doesn't karking take care of himself at all," he grumbled.

"Sounds like you like him, mando," Waxer pointed out, utterly bewildered by the turn the conversation had taken.

"Not like _that_ ," Right answered him with an audible grimace. "He's... it's hard to explain, given the restrictions were under, but he's not the villain you think."

"Maybe he was, once," Left conceded. "We don't really know what he was like before we met him. But the Count we know keeps his promises, and he promised neither Kenobi nor the Commander would be harmed unless absolutely necessary, and then only with enough force to subdue. We know how important they are to you and your troopers, Lieutenant."

Boil came awake with a groan, forcing them to break off their conversation. "Kark. What hit me?"

Right released Waxer with a last long look at him where their eyes seemed to meet through Right's T-visor, then stood. "At ease, trooper," he said firmly. "This is friendly territory."

Waxer raised his head enough to catch his _riduur_ 's eyes and sign, _Hold position. We need more intel. Many wounded_.

Boil nodded gingerly, swallowing like he was as nauseous as Waxer had been on regaining consciousness.

Crys spoke up from the next bed, his voice a harsh rasp, "Where the kriff are we, anyways?"

Oh. True. He still needed an answer to that question himself.

Left and Right exchanged a look, before Left answered. "Serenno."

"And why the kriff are we on kriffing _Serenno, beroya_?" Wooley demanded, as three more sets of footsteps sounded out in the corridor.

Two of them were familiar and sent a wave of relief through Waxer. The Commander and the General were approaching, and not in a hurry. That could only be a good thing.

What it meant, exactly, remained to be seen.

Left and Right also relaxed, apparently just as glad the General and the Commander were back as Waxer was. Or, Waxer amended as the Count stepped into the room after them, maybe glad to see their master alive and well.

"Waxer," the Commander caught his eyes, his tone of voice low and serious. " _Me'vaar ti gar_?"

 _Planning to ask you that_ , Waxer signed as he replied. "Near as I can determine, the men are all going to recover," he said.

Right muttered something under his breath that sounded like _typical_. Waxer ignored it.

General Kenobi made a face that tried to be both fond and resigned but mostly ended up being bemused. He scented of bitter fading stress and worry, with a strong undertone of _confused-wary-hopeful_. "The Count assured me that this is the case, Waxer," he put in, "and seeing as my cooperation with his scheme is contingent on that being true, I'm inclined to believe it, assuming my CMO confirms it."

Both the General and the Commander looked no worse for wear. Neither had any weapons, but the Commander was still in his armor, minus his bucket. There weren’t any signs of damage, not even to their clothes or armor paint. They looked… weirdly fine. 

The Count was everything and nothing like Waxer expected. Cool and dignified, with expensive clothes, ‘sabers at his side, and a long, dark armorweave cape. There was a distinct lack of unhinged ranting, though, and no other obvious sign of murderous intent. If anything, he carried a very faint smell of stress to match General Kenobi's and the Commander's, though it was mingled with anger and sorrow. 

"He will, sir," Right spoke up, and instantly got the Commander's attention.

"Spitfire?" The Commander addressed Right, his tone oddly careful and soft, "will you show us your face?"

The _mando'ad_ , whose callsign made a jolt of mingled grief and longing go through Waxer -- Spitfire had been a squadmate of his who'd marched far away, long ago -- hesitated to accede to the request.

"It's alright, Spitfire," the Count put in, his tone surprisingly soft and reassuring. "They know."

It took Spitfire another moment to carefully unseal and remove his _buy'ce_ , and when he did, Waxer froze.

" _Vod_ ," he asked, hearing the sudden hoarse rasp in his voice, "I-- am I dreaming?"

"No, Lieutenant," Spitfire said, swallowing audibly and shuffling his feet. His scent -- gloriously wonderfully familiar -- screamed _pack_ and _squad_ and _home_ , despite the undertones of worry and uncertainty and stress. The hair was a little different, longer and with dyed red stripes in it, but Waxer would never mistake that scent.

"What the kriff," Boil muttered, "is even going on here?"

Cody huffed, a mix of amusement and annoyance and lingering stress in his scent, "A lot," he quipped, voice wry, "and most of it is top secret."

Spitfire snorted, then slowly, gingerly, slipped into the chair beside Waxer's bed. "We're aiming to end the war, _Vod_ ," he said solemnly. "Will you help us?"

"I have so many questions," Waxer answered the squadmate he'd thought dead for months -- kark, nearly a year already -- and offered a hand that was immediately taken in a firm grip, "but ending the war is definitely a cause I could get behind."

Crys made a pained sound elsewhere in the room. "I'd think we all could, sir, but I'd like to be able to think straight before we try."

From his position near the door, Left made a sound of relief and carefully removed his own _buy'ce_ , revealing another -- unfamiliar -- _Vod_. "Don't worry," he said, "the hangover doesn't last more than a couple of rotations, and after the first few hours it's nothing more than an annoyance."

Kenobi's scent went a bit relieved and the line of his shoulders relaxed. "That's good to know," he replied. "I take it the rest of my men are in the other wards?"

"They are, General," Left told him. "More of our _Vod'e_ are keeping watch over them. Once they're recovered we'll make sure you're all packed up before you leave."

The pun made Waxer groan. "Really, _Vod_?"

Left laughed at him, as did Spitfire. The Count huffed quietly, sounding fond and amused.

"General could stand to have more of a pack," Wooley said, his eyes still tightly shut and lines of pain on his face.

"I'm fine," Kenobi tried to protest.

"Perhaps you are," the Count said scathingly, "but now that you have agreed to assist me in my aims, no matter how reluctant to believe me or dubious about the outcome you might be, my pack is your pack."

"We'll work on it, Count," Spitfire promised with something approximating glee in his voice.

Waxer shook his head. "All packed up," he muttered, and the Commander snorted.

"Guess so, Waxer," he agreed. "I'm not sure yet if that's a good thing, honestly, but it's an idea with a lot of potential."

Spitfire scoffed. "Just try not to kark it up, Commander," he snarked. "None of you want to know what ridiculous karking theories Punch and I've been fielding so far."

Kenobi raised an eloquent eyebrow at him, then smiled wryly at them all. "You may be right, at that," he conceded. "And we do have rather more important things to discuss."

For once, that statement didn’t sound ominous at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a Glossary:
> 
>  **Beroya** \- n. bounty hunter; plural: beroya'se  
>  **Beskar** \- n. Mandalorian iron  
>  **Buy'ce** \- n. helmet; plural: buy'ce'se
> 
>  **Di'kut** \- n. idiot; plural: di'kut'e
> 
>  **K', Ke'** \- prepositional prefix denoting an imperative; eg: **Olaror** = to arrive; **K'olar** = "come here"
> 
>  **Mando’ad** \- n. Mandaloran being (literally: Child of Manda)  
>  **Me'vaar ti gar?** \- How are you? (Literally: what's new with you?) Can also be used to ask a soldier for a sitrep. If a Mando asks you this, they expect an answer; it's literal. The response for "I'm fine thanks," is _Naas._ (Literally: nothing.)
> 
>  **Nayc** \- No  
>  **nu, n', ne** \- prepositional prefix denoting a negative; eg: **Ke shaadla** = Move!; **Ke nu shaadla** = Don't move!
> 
>  **Ori'haat** \- It's the truth, I swear - no bull. (Literally: big truth)  
>  **Osik** \- dung (impolite)
> 
>  **Riduur** \- n. spouse/lover; plural: riduur'e
> 
>  **Shaadlar** \- v. to move  
>  **Shabuir** \- n. jerk, but much stronger; extreme insult
> 
>  **Udesii!** \- "Calm down! Take it easy!"  
>  **Udesiir** \- v. relax, take it easy, calm down, find respite
> 
>  **Vod** \- n. gender neutral word for brother/sister; plural: Vod'e


End file.
